At the Fork in the Road
by Tiny-Scientist
Summary: Bobby is poisoned and with no other options, he turns to those closest to him for help. But when Sam does something that threatens not only his bond with Gabriel but his own soul, things look grim. Crowley is acting strange, and time is running out.
1. The Road

He was out of time. Bobby swore, standing at the fork in the road, discarded shotgun at his feet, Holy Water in one hand a knife in the other. The Demons he had been chasing now encircled him, pacing with menacing confidence. They had him surrounded, all they had to do was move in for the kill. He wasn't especially keen on dying, but if life wasn't going to give him a choice, he was sure as Hell going to go down fighting. Above them, the clouds were growing dark, blocking out the sun, despite it being somewhere around noon. One of the Demons hissed ferally at him, but it didn't have any effect – intimidation tactics had long since ceased to work on the old hunter.

"What're you waitin' for then?" Bobby snarled back at it, adjusting his grip on the knife slightly, so it sat a little more comfortably in his hand. The Demons gathered around him hissed as one. Bobby glanced around the circle.

There were seven in total, enough maybe for a younger, fitter Hunter with more weapons - or perhaps two Hunters - but armed as he was, and technically being retired, Bobby knew he didn't stand a chance. Even if he did manage to take out two demons, possibly even three, there were more, and he knew it was hopeless. If he wasn't so proud, he might have surrendered then and there.

However, something other than pride, however, stopped him from dropping his weapons. A face, smirking at him from over a glass of scotch, glaring across the room at Sam and Dean, and once, smiling, just for a second, at Bobby's muttered comment of 'Idjit's'. The face smirked at him now, and Bobby could almost imagine what it's owner would have said, had he been present.

"Really Darling, giving up so soon?"

Bobby spun around, and exclaimed in surprise. Standing behind him, suit in perfect order, not even looking slightly out of place, was Crowley, self-proclaimed King of both Hell and the Crossroads, and the occasional bane of Bobby's sanity, among other things. His arms were folded, and was regarded the other Demons with a look that Bobby could only describe as put out.

"I've told you all before." Crowley addressed the Demons now, a note of anger creeping into his hard voice, "You are to leave Robert Singer and the Winchester brothers in peace. You all, of course, know the penalty for disobeying your King." He glared at the Demons, who were now cowering, "I wouldn't have to remind you now, would I?" The Demon's flinched away from him, fear evident in their ranks.

"I thought not." Crowley continued, "Now, get out of my sight." He turned away from them, evidently disgusted by their actions, and therefore didn't react quickly enough to what happened next.

Bobby, distracted both by Crowley's display of power over the Demons and his quick, irritated movements as he turned away, failed to notice the one Demon that wasn't cowering drawing a long-bladed knife from its belt. He turned back, ready to pick up his shotgun and leave, and barely had time to bring his own blade up to parry the Demon's vicious diagonal strike. If unparried, Bobby noted, in some deep, strangely calm part of him mind, the blade would have entered his chest cavity via the gap between neck and collarbone, puncturing his lung and quite probably lodging in his heart. Charming, as Crowley would probably say.

As it was, the Demon's blade slipped off his own and grazed his arm. Bobby was shocked by how much the wound burned, the blade had cut deep, sure, but he'd been cut that deep before and he could instantly tell that this wasn't normal knife-wound pain. He had more important concerns however, than a knife wound. He went for his own stab at the Demon, but before he reached it, Crowley had shouted something in what sounded like enraged Hellspeak, and the Demon was forced from its host, the black mist swirling for a moment, before Crowley added another few words, almost as an afterthought, and it vanished.

Suddenly, the road was empty; the other Demon's having vanished at Crowley's order. Bobby and Crowley stared at each other for a few moments, the former panting slightly, the latter appearing to be a little more ruffled than when he had arrived. Finally, Crowley asked sharply.

"Why didn't you just summon me, you fool?"

Bobby glared back. "I wonder." He returned, "Ya think I carry everythin' I need to summon a Demon with me?"

"You could simply have called for me." Crowley muttered, "I would have come."

That stopped Bobby in his tracks. Crowley, listen to him? He must have been hearing things. He shrugged and ducked his head to examine his wounded arm. Pushing back the ripped sleeve of his shirt, he discovered a long, deep but surprisingly clean gash, oozing dark red blood. It still burned, but it was likely that once it had been cleaned a dresses, it'd heal fine.

While Bobby was examining his arm, it started to rain. Crowley sighed, as if irked by the weather, and pulled out an umbrella Bobby was sure he hadn't had a moment ago, opening it above him.

"Well, come on then." He gestured Bobby towards him, "Don't want you freezing to death as well. I spend enough time trying to keep you and the morons alive as it is."

When Bobby stepped across and positioned himself right at the edge of the – admittedly rather large – umbrella, Crowley sighed, grabbed him by the belt and dragged him underneath properly, safe from the heavy rain. If his hand lingered for just a second on Bobby's hip, well, the Hunter didn't call him out on it, so who was Crowley to blame? Bobby remained silent, pointedly ignoring Crowley all the way back to where his truck was parked, about half a mile down the road.

Bobby made for the driver's door, but Crowley, very intentionally, got in his way.

"Ya gonna move?" He asked, irritated. He was tired, his arm hurt, and he had his mind set on getting home, dressing his injuries and getting soundly drunk. And he _didn't like_ Crowley getting in his way.

"Doubtful." Crowley admitted, holding out his hand, "Keys. I don't trust you behind the wheel of a golf buggy with that arm, let alone this." He eyed the truck with a hint of distaste.

Bobby had to admit, the Demon had a point. Grumbling, he pulled his keys out of his pocket, not bothering to tell Crowley which one he should be looking for. Not that it mattered, since Crowley seemed to know exactly which key to unlock the door with and then insert calmly into the ignition. Bobby rounded the truck as quickly as he could and clambered up into the passenger seat, wincing a little as the movements jostled his injured arm. Crowley put the big vehicle into reverse and steered his way neatly back onto the road – "Really Robert, parking halfway into a hedge" – and they were off.

For a Demon whom Bobby had assumed didn't have very much experience behind the wheel, Crowley drove surprisingly well. He didn't swerve, didn't slam the brakes and even negotiating Bobby's drive – which wasn't so much a drive as a maze between all the wreaked cars in his yard – without mishaps. He turned the engine off smoothly, removed the keys from the ignition and climbed down from the driver's seat. He was around the other side of the truck in moments, offering Bobby a hand down. Bobby ignored the proffered assistance, grumbling something about not being 'a damsel in distress, damnit' and that he could do it himself.

"Suit yourself then." Crowley shrugged, "Can't blame me for being a gentleman."

Bobby rolled his eyes, and followed Crowley ill-temperedly into the house.

He was greeted by a surprised looking Sam, and a rather annoyed looking Dean, who only begun to look more cross when he saw Crowley, who was politely holding the door open for Bobby. Sam's surprise turned to worry when he saw Bobby's arm, and he hustled the older man inside, asking him what had happened. Crowley followed them both, catching the dirty look Dean was giving him and replying with a calm raise of one eyebrow.

While Sam and Bobby went into the kitchen so Sam, who had surprisingly good first aid training, and steadier hands than Bobby most days, could take a look at the other's wound, Dean cornered Crowley in the hallway.

"I swear, if this was in anyway your fault…" He snarled in the Demon's face, getting right up into his personal space.

"Calm down, moron." Crowley snapped back, "He's lucky I arrived in time, otherwise he'd have more than just a scratch." He stepped past Dean, smoothing his suit jacket down as he went. "Now," he was heard to mutter, "I need a drink."

In the kitchen, Sam was preparing to clean Bobby's wound while Bobby recounted the events on the road with the Demons. Sam was mostly interested in how Crowley had known to turn up in the first place.

"I dunno," Bobby shrugged, glaring at Sam from under his hat when Sam searched the first aid kit for an alcohol swab to clean the wound. Why did you young man have to be so damned nosy?

"Too many demons in one place, came to break up the party is my guess." Dean pointed out, walking into the kitchen and straight to the fridge, grabbing a leftover slice of pizza and a beer.

"I am loathe to admit that you are mostly correct." Crowley grumbled, joining them, leaning casually against the bench. He glanced curiously over Sam's shoulder, and then his eyes narrowed, focusing on Bobby's wound. He leaned in, examining something curiously. Just as Sam was about to start wiping away the dried blood with the alcohol wipe, Crowley pushed his hands away.

"Hey!" Both Sam and Bobby shouted indignantly, "What the hell are you doing?" Dean added from the other end of the kitchen, reaching for a gun he realized he wasn't carrying.

"Stopping things from getting worse." Crowley snapped at Dean, turned back to Bobby's wounded arm. He ran a hand almost over it, barely a centimetre above the skin, and nodded to himself.

"What?" Sam asked him, cottoning on to the fact that Crowley could see – or sense - something he couldn't.

"Bastards." Crowley muttered, adding in what sounded like expletives in Hellspeak afterwards.

Sam gave him a look that said, that wasn't so courteous, and repeated himself, "What?"

"Poison." Crowley said tersely, turning back to Bobby, "You can't see its effects, but I can." Sam squinted a little, "Dark brown patches, some almost black and irregular clotting of the blood?" he asked, head to one side. "How come I can see it?"

"Well done Moose," Crowley snapped back. "And do I look like an encyclopedia? Why would I know?"

"Point is," Bobby said over them, "Would it have been better to leave me to those black-eyed bastards back there?"

They all knew what he was asking. Was the poison fatal? Did he have a chance?

Crowley made a face halfway between a grimace and a frown. He looked at Bobby, then at Sam, then spoke quickly, "I need to return to Hell." He explained, "There are too many possibilities, I need to narrow it down a little. Moron." He directed this at Dean, who glared. "Get that Angel who's always in your back pocket over in case he has any ideas." He turned to Bobby, gave him a confusing look and said simply, "Stay alive." Before he vanished. His warning to them all was clear; be on your guard.

Moments after he disappeared, Castiel - with a highly inebriated Gabriel in tow - appeared in the kitchen. Castiel looked around curiously, before seeing Dean and crossing the room to his side. Gabriel stumbled around for a moment before he noticed Sam, who remained seated across from Bobby's dressing the other's wound with a clean pad and fastening it with a bandage. Sam was halfway through applying the aforementioned bandage when a small, but very noticeable and ridiculously drunk Archangel crawled into his lap, burying his face in Sam's neck and mumbling something that might have been 'Heya Sammy'. At this, Bobby rolled his eyes and stalked upstairs, announcing that he wanted sleep, not 'damn Angels in my kitchen'.

Sam looked down as Gabriel, who seemed to have passed out in his lap, head drooping adorably against Sam's chest.

"Cas?" Sam asked, looking across the kitchen, "How much did he have to drink? He's completely out."

Castiel glanced up from his conversation with Dean, "About half a bottle of Holy Water," He replied smoothly, "It appears to have a much more…intoxicating effect compared to alcohol. I believe Gabriel quite enjoys it."

Sam rolled his eyes, picked Gabriel up and carried him to the sofa, pulling the blanket off the back of it and tucking him in. He looked down at his Angel fondly for a moment, then turned back to Dean and Castiel. Not surprisingly, Dean had crowded Castiel against the kitchen counter and was kissing him, something the two of them seemed to end up doing every time they were left to their own devices without something to hunt, chase, investigate, Smite or otherwise aggress. Sam was positive he and Gabriel weren't that bad. Even when they'd first started going out, Sam had done his best to keep things discreet, even if Gabriel had been attempting the opposite.

Sam sighed and stalked off to Bobby's study to search through his books on Demon lore. There might be some useful information in one of them. Anything to distract him from his own, deeply troubling thoughts. Why had he been able to see something only Crowley could, something Demonic.

"Morning Sammich."

Sam groaned, lifting his head from where it was pillowed on a heavy book. He didn't recall falling asleep. Gabriel was sitting on the edge of the desk, swinging his legs and grinning down at Sam. He smile seemed to increase in brightness when Sam opened his eyes to glare sleepily at him.

"What time is it?" He complained, rubbing at his eyes and running a hand through his hair.

"Almost nine." Gabriel shrugged, "We're still the first up."

Sam grimaced, most of the time he despised sleeping in, and then he remembered the reason he'd been in the study in the first place.

"Bobby!" He exclaimed, moving to get out of his seat. Gabriel pushed him back down.

"Relax Sam," the Archangel told him, "The Demon was here last night with a few ideas."

As if simply speaking his name had summoned him, Crowley appeared next to them. He looked, if that were possible for a Demon, rather harried, like he'd been run off his feet.

"Hello Boys." He muttered, looking from Sam to Gabriel and then back again, "Where's the idiot and the Angel? Still in bed?"

Sam nodded. Gabriel snapped his fingers, and vanished, reappearing a few seconds later with Dean and Castiel, both of who were, thankfully, dressed, if not fully awake yet. Dean glared at Gabriel, shaking his grip off him. Castiel, now fully awake, was more focused on Crowley.

"Crowley," He greeted the Demon, "I am assuming you have made a discovery, and the manner in which you have gathered us suggests that it was not one of a positive nature."

Sam got to his feet, pushing out his chair for the Demon, but Crowley waved it away, preferring to pace the study instead.

"What then?" Dean burst out angrily, clearly not in the best of sorts after being zapped downstairs by Gabriel. Crowley looked up at him, and his eyes had taken on a haunted look, almost…scared. He still didn't speak. He looked like he was at war with himself. Gabriel, clearly tired of the situation, fixed the Demon with a serious gaze for a brief moment.

"Shit." He muttered.

Crowley looked up, "No mind-reading, Angel." He protested, albeit weakly. At least he wouldn't have to deliver the news now.

Gabriel looked around the study, clearly upset, and also angry from whatever he had seen in the Demon's mind. "There's…there's nothing we can do." He barely whispered, "Bobby's gonna die from the poison, Crowley says there's no antidote."


	2. Terrible Insight

"Like Hell I'm gonna die."

As one, they all turned to see Bobby standing in the doorway, dressed – although this time his clothes lacked bloodstains – and glaring at them all. His wounded arm was cradled against his chest, but at least the bandage was clean, even to the exacting gazes of Crowley and Sam. Bobby, clearly irritated that they had started the meeting or whatever without him, stormed past them and sat, still looking annoyed, in the empty chair.

The silence in the study was tense. Sam looked at Gabriel. Gabriel looked at Crowley. Crowley looked at the ceiling. Dean looked at Castiel. Castiel looked at Crowley. Bobby glared around at them all, noting the way thy all studiously avoided his gaze.

"So," he said conversationally, "Where were ya all gonna tell me I'm supposed to be dyin'?"

The tension turned to embarrassment. Everyone ceased their looking at one another and their gazes were all levelled at Crowley. The Demon, hilariously, looked like a startled deer in the headlights, but no-one was laughing.

"Uhh…" Crowley felt decidedly awkward, "Well…" he fumbled a bit

"What he means to say is," Gabriel announced from his place at Sam's side, "That he only just got in. Honestly, and I can_not_ believe I'm saying this, but give the guy, um, Demon a break. Also," And now he turned to Crowley, "He's not definitely going to die, genius, there _is_ an antidote."

"You're conveniently forgetting the part where said antidote is impossible to make." Crowley pointed out, looking relieved and annoyed all at the same time, "And even if we can find everything we need, who knows if it will even work."

"It's worth a shot." Dean growled.

"Yes, I was afraid you were going to say that." Crowley muttered. He folded his arms uncomfortably, shifting a little where he stood. Sam was positive he'd never seen any Demon look this uncomfortable, let alone the usually unflappable Crowley.

"What?" Dean pestered, refusing to let the matter drop.

"It's not as simple as throwing a few things together, moron!" Crowley snapped at Dean. Dean bristled with anger. Castiel, silent at Dean's side, looked like he was going to say something, but Gabriel's hand on his arm stopped him, "Let them shout, little bro," The Archangel whispered, "They both need to let off some steam."

Crowley and Dean ended up shouting at each other for almost an hour, about anything and everything they could think of to insult and anger each other. Castiel and Gabriel disappeared to who knows where, Sam went back to searching through the books in Bobby's study, and Bobby himself set about the business of getting drunk. Crowley briefly appeared and took all the alcohol away from him, which only served to annoy him more.

When Dean finally stormed out of the house, slamming the door hard behind him, Crowley joined Sam in the study, glancing at the piles of old books and shaking his head.

"You're going about it the wrong way." He said simply. Sam looked up from his reading, brushing his hair out of his eyes. Gabriel had recently been hinting that it was probably long enough to be put into a ponytail by now, but Sam wasn't keen on giving Dean another thing to mock him about.

"Sorry?" he asked, confused. what else was he supposed to do?

"The poison is older than any books." Crowley leant against the wall near the doorway, "It's about the oldest poison in existence. How that bastard got hold of it…" He muttered in Hellspeak, and Sam shot him a faintly disapproving look.

"I know what you're saying, you know." He pointed out, almost cracking a smile.

Crowley started. "_You_ understand Hellspeak?" He sounded scornful, "I highly doubt that Moose."

"What do you think I did in the Cage?" Sam retorted, "There wasn't much else to do down there." He shrugged, "Sorry, no more covert swearing I guess."

"You can understand it," Crowley mused, "What about reading it?"

"A little." Sam admitted, "I'm not great at it, haven't had much of a chance to practice."

Crowley nodded to himself, as if he was mulling these thoughts over.

"You said the poison was old?" Sam asked, "Then, the antidote is old as well?"

Crowley nodded, "So old I'm not even sure it works anymore, let alone if we can find everything we need for it. And even then, it mightn't work. This poison was never made to be fought."

Sam sighed, but refused to be defeated, "Well, when Gabriel and Castiel get back, which should be soon, we can start looking for things, yeah?"

"I hope so." Crowley replied, sinking into a chair.

True to Sam's word, the Angels returned shortly after his conversation with Crowley. They were both a little out of breath, but seemed a little more relaxed. Gabriel explained briefly that he and Castiel had raced around the solar system to burn off some excess energy. They were both in better moods, and Castiel offered to find Dean, but Sam advised against it; Dean was still in a huff and would come back when he was less likely to destroy things. Castiel checked up on him briefly, and reported that Dean, while still irritated, was calming down.

They sat around the desk in the study, Sam, Gabriel, Castiel, Crowley and Bobby, and Crowley called them all to order. Sam was not sure what the Demon had done, but he looked calmer, and neater, like all the wrinkles had been smoothed out.

"The simple truth of it all is," He began, arms folded across his chest, "Yes, there is an antidote." He paused for a moment to let that fact sink in, "But it's as much of a good idea as just not doing anything whatsoever."

"That's not entirely true." Gabriel pointed out from his place in Sam's lap, "It's mostly as dangerous, but it's a better bet than doing nothing at all!"

"You know what's at stake." Crowley snarled, and for the first time, they all saw how tightly controlled he was keeping himself, and how much anger there really was inside him. Anger and…fear?

"Yeah," Gabriel snapped back, "I do. You just gonna give up hope then?"

They glared at each other for a few more minutes, before Bobby broke the silence.

"Someone wanna tell me what the Hell's goin' on?"

Castiel nodded in agreement, "I too, wish to know what it is that you are suggesting."

Sam agreed.

"The antidote." Gabriel explained shortly, "Has about as much chance of saving Bobby as it does of killing him."

Silence once more. Bobby was the first to speak, "I don't see any better ideas." He looked around the room, catching the gaze of each individual. They all saw the truth in his eyes. Bobby was _scared_. Sam felt like some integral part of his universe had been knocked off balance – everything was wrong. Sam couldn't remember a time when he's seen Bobby afraid, let alone for his own life.

Crowley nodded, as if he had known that this would be the other man's choice all along. Considering how right the Demon had been so far, he probably had.

"Alright." Crowley nodded, "I'll start making a shopping list."

Crowley and Gabriel – and how the Hell were they not fighting? – had been locked in the study for most of the day, busily working out what they needed for the antidote. Bobby had stalked outside. Not exactly irritated, but snapping at anyone who asked. Sam and Castiel were in the lounge room, Sam with his nose in a book, and Castiel simply starting into space.

Suddenly, Castiel let out a sound remarkably simply to a cry of pain, and dropped to his knees. Sam was across the room and at his side in seconds.

"Cas? Castiel?" He asked, reaching out to place a hand on the Angel's shoulder.

Castiel looked up at him, eyes full of pain and concern, "Dean has been hurt." He said simply, "I will return with him." And with that, he vanished.

Sam was left feeling quietly useless. He knew that by the time Castiel returned with Dean, his brother would be fine again, Castiel having healed him. Crowley and Gabriel were shut away in the study, and Bobby, in his current state of mind, wouldn't want to talk. But Sam was too restless to just sit down and read a book. His brother was hurt, even if Castiel was going to fix things, Dean was _hurt_. Sam was just as protective of his brother as Dean was of him. Then, his mind turned to what could have happened. Castiel would have known the second Dean walked into the lair of something evil, not only did the two of them have a very close bond, but Castiel kept an eye on them all, making sure none of them got into trouble when they were out on their own. He should have been 'watching' where Bobby was yesterday, but Sam and Dean had been finishing up a hunt, and he'd been a little preoccupied. Sam knew Castiel was feeling guilty over this, and he hoped Dean had been taking extra care of him. The last thing they needed on their hands was a depressed Angel.

In a flash, Castiel was back, Dean holding onto him for support. Sam was shocked by the amount of blood on his brother's shirt and face.

"Are you alright?" Sam jumped to his feet, running to Dean's side. He put a hand on his brother's shoulder in concern.

"I'm fine Sammy. Just a bar fight." Dean replied, "Cas zapped me, I just need a shower and I'll be-" he was cut off by Sam grabbing him in a tight embrace. Dean wriggled, trying to get out of his brother's hug, and when Sam finally let him go, he shoved him gently in the chest.

"Such a big girl." He muttered, stalking past him on his way to the bathroom, "You coming Cas?" Castiel looked confused, but then cottoned on to the general idea and followed Dean. Sam put his head in his hands. He did not want to know about what his brother was doing with Castiel. Especially not in the shower that _everyone in the house_ had to use.

About half an hour later, Crowley and Gabriel left the study. Both looked tired and tense, but at least vaguely satisfied. Crowley went outside, presumably to look for Bobby, and Gabriel went over to where Sam was seated on the sofa, crawling into his lap and resting his head on his chest, eyes closed. Sam put down his book and ran his fingers lightly through Gabriel's hair, and then down his back, fingers rubbing gently between the Archangel's shoulder-blades, where Sam knew his wings would be had they been physically manifested. Gabriel just mumbled sleepily and curled closer to Sam.

"Hey," Sam murmured, "News on the antidote?"

Gabriel nodded, "Have to find a few things," He explained, "Mostly in Hell though, Crowley's gonna go look a bit. He wants to have a look at Bobby's wound first, check the poison hasn't spread and stuff."

Sam pulled Gabriel against him, "And you?"

"I wanna snuggle." Gabriel complained, sounding childish and petulant.

"Okay," Sam let his Angel stay, curled against his chest, wrapping his strong arms around Gabriel's slight form, pulling him close. Gabriel hummed in contentment when Sam's hands resumed rubbing his back, soothing away the tension from the last few hours. Soon, both of them had fallen asleep on the sofa.

_It's dark. So dark. He doesn't like this._

_He's alone._

_Where's Gabriel? He was sure Gabriel was with him before…before…before what? He doesn't know what happened._

_He doesn't know where he is. He was with Gabriel, he remembers, but now…_

_"Hello."_

_He spins around. The man, he's assuming man, although perhaps demon would be a better word considering the way his eyes are glowing red, is small and weedy, wearing a suit that's certainly seen better days. "You must be Sam Winchester." His voice is thin and high, grating._

_"Yeah." His voice is rough, like it hasn't been used. Or like he's been screaming. "What do you want?"_

_"Always asking the pertinent question." The response has a taunting sound to it. The Demon circles him. "I want to crush any hope you and your Angels have of saving Robert Singer." The voice is snarling now, angry. "The poison? Deadly. The antidote? Impossible to make."_

_"Impossible doesn't mean very much to me." Sam snapped back._

_"Well it should." Is the irritated reply. Then, "Oh, they haven't told you yet, have they?" the Demon lets out a low chuckle._

_"Haven't told me what?" Sam snaps back angrily. Whatever this is, vision, nightmare, hallucination, he wants out, and he wants out now._

_More laughter. "You tell the 'King of Hell" as he calls himself," There's obvious air quotes as the Demon speaks, "There's none of the poison left. He gets to watch the one person he cares about suffer and die, while he knows there is nothing he can do to save him."_

Sam jolted awake, Gabriel sliding out of his lap and being dumped unceremoniously onto the floor. The Archangel looked up at him with a hurt look, until he saw Sam's face. He climbed back onto the couch and grabbed for his hand.

"Nightmare?" he asked softly.

"I don't know." Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, "felt…felt more like a vision or something." His head hurt and he felt dizzy, unstable.

"About?" Gabriel asked, "No, sorry, don't tell me if it's too much." He squeezed Sam's hand in his.

"It's alright."

As Sam told Gabriel about his experience, the Archangel's expression shifted from concerned to angry and back to concerned. Sam finished his account by asking a serious question.

"What haven't you told me? The Demon said that 'they' and I'm assuming that means you and Crowley since you two seem to know the most about the poison, weren't telling me something. What are you hiding Gabe?"


	3. Well that worked

Gabriel shifted awkwardly, ducking his head to avoid Sam's gaze. He hunched his shoulders, a sure sign that he was uncomfortable.

"The poison," He started off, "Well, the antidote really. It's…it's about as dangerous as the poison itself, maybe more."

"How so?" Sam fixed Gabriel with a hard stare, knowing that the Archangel wasn't telling him everything yet. Gabriel shot him a guilty look.

"The antidote has to have some of the same poison in it, as well as the blood of the Demon who did the poisoning. And, in the amounts we're talking about…well, Bobby could end up addicted like you were."

Sam flinched at the mention of his own previous addiction, trying not to let on how much Gabriel's words were affecting him. Gabriel saw though, and placed his other hand over Sam's.

"Sorry." He murmured, "This is why Crowley and I were hesitant to bring it up around you. I didn't want you freaking out about it."

Sam nodded silently. "I'm still mad at you." He muttered crossly. Then, "Does Bobby know this?"

There was a muffled curse from outside.

"He does now." Said Crowley grimly, appearing in the corner, "And, as you can imagine, he's none too pleased about it." He rubbed his jaw, "When did he start punching so hard?" He added, sounding somewhere between irritated and grudgingly fond.

"Same time you informed him of the whole sordid story." Gabriel replied. Sam glared at them both. Then, he had an idea.

"Crowley?" He asked, the thought still forming in his head.

"Yes, Moose." The Demon replied, raising an eyebrow.

"I…I think I had a vision, about the Demon, the one the poisoned Bobby. I mean, it felt like a vision, like the ones I used to have…but this Demon, in the vision, he told me that I should pass on a message to you." Sam paused. Crowley nodded to him, as if to say, 'go on'. "He said that there was none of the poison left." Sam tried not to sound like he was despairing as he said it.

Crowley flinched like he had just been slapped, and for a brief second, panic flashed across his face. "I have to return to Hell. Again." He muttered simply. He strode from the room.

Sam got to his feet. "I wasn't finished," He muttered irritatedly, marching after the King of Hell.

"Crowley, wait!" Sam called, catching up to the Demon on the front porch.

"What now?" Crowley snapped, turning to glare at Sam, who was standing in the doorway, light filtering out around him.

"Can we talk?" He asked, sounding a little anxious.

"That seems to be what we're doing." Crowley shot back.

"The Demon, the one in my vision." Sam explained quickly, "He said something I couldn't figure out. Something about, well, you." He hesitated, and Crowley glared.

"I don't have all night." He said tartly.

"The Demon, well, he said that he wanted you to watch 'the only person you cared about' suffer and die. He said it like he wanted revenge. Crowley," and here Sam stared hard at the King of Hell, "Why would he say that about you and Bobby?"

Crowley ducked his head, and had the chagrin to look at least mildly embarrassed. "There may be some rather vicious and untrue rumours circling in Hell about myself and Robert Singer." The Demon coughed, then he glared so forcefully at Sam the he was forced to nod and remain silent. With another glare, Crowley vanished, and Sam, reluctantly, returned to the light and warmth of the house.

Back inside, Sam noticed Dean, who was sulking in the living room, bottle of beer in his hand, glaring out into the dim evening. He didn't look up when Sam sat down next to him.

"You hear about the antidote?" Sam asked solemnly.

"Yeah." Dean replied. He looked up at Sam, "It's fucked, he?."

"We've never been normal." Sam pointed out, shrugging.

"But this freaks you out?" Dean pressed.

"Yeah." Sam nodded, "It doesn't you?"

"Course it does." His brother returned, "I'm just not a great big girl like you, Samantha. And I'm not scared of my past." Dean had gone too far then, but Sam did his best to retrain his temper.

"Cut it out." Sam snapped, getting angry, "You're not taking any of this seriously!" Dean regarded the beer bottles lined up on the coffee table. There were four empties, and his current one, which was less than half full.

"Course I'm not." Dean laughed shrugging, "You needa relax, Sammy, I mean what gives? Why you so tense?"

Sam hit him then, hard in the jaw, and Dean may have been drunk, but he recognised a fight when he saw one, and they were off. In retrospect, a proper, knock-down, drag-out fight might have been the best thing for the two of them, tense as they were, but Bobby's lounge-room was not the optimal place to do so. The moment Dean knocked a book onto the floor, the fight was over.

"Watch it." Snapped a weak but familiar voice from the doorway. Bobby, leaning heavily on the doorframe to support himself, was shooting Dean a nasty glare.

Sheepishly, Dean picked up the book, replacing it on top of the pile he had knocked it from in the first place. Bobby nodded in approval, examining the room.

"You," He said firmly, pointing at Dean, "Go to bed. I don't wanna deal with yer drunken crap right now." Surprisingly – or perhaps not - Dean just muttered "Yes Sir." And skulked off in the direction of the guest bedroom he was sharing with Castiel. The moment he was gone, Bobby entered the room proper and slumped down into the armchair across from Sam.

Sam reached from Bobby's wounded arm, "Can I..?" he left the question unfinished, knowing that Bobby knew his meaning.

"Yeah, sure." Bobby shrugged, "Ain't gonna make it any worse."

Sam carefully unfastened the bandage and unwound it. Gently, he peeled back the dressing to reveal the wound. For a moment he was filled with hope; he wound looked like it was healing, but then he focused his gaze, and that little bit of extra power – from his time in the cage, perhaps from Gabriel, he didn't know – allowed him to see the real wound. He shuddered in disgust. The skin around the wound was pale and waxy, almost dead looking. The wound itself was fairly small, about five centimetres in length although it was rather deep. It was crusted in dark, dried blood that Sam knew had to come off if he was to have any chance of seeing the wound's actual condition.

"Back in a moment." He told Bobby, getting to his feet. He vanished into the kitchen, collecting the things he would need. Halfway through running the hot tap to get warm water, Gabriel appeared next to him, sliding under his arm like as cat and pressing himself against his side. Sam let him stay there, waiting for the water to heat. As soon as the stream flowing over his hand turned uncomfortably warm, he grabbed the bowl he had taken from the cupboard and filled it halfway with the water. Grabbing the first aid kit, Sam returned to the lounge room.

Bobby was exactly where he left him, unsurprisingly. Sam set the water bowl on the floor next to him and took out a clean washcloth from the first aid kit. He started working on the dried blood, doing his best to sponge it away without causing too much pain. Bobby was continuously surprised by the way more and more blood kept being removed from his – seemingly healing – arm. After a few minutes, despite all the cleaning he'd done, Sam could barely see any difference. The wound was still covered in dried blood, and he needed a fresh bowl of water.

When he got up to change the water, Gabriel, who had been standing behind him, put a hand on his arm to stop him, "Let me give it a try." He smiled a little weakly.

Sam shot Bobby a questioning look.

"What the hell." Bobby shrugged "It's gotta be nicer than Demon's blood. No offence." He shot that last part at Sam, who waved it off, trying to ignore the subtle way in which the comment stung. Bobby hadn't meant it.

Gabriel crossed the room, grinning again. Now that he had something to do, he could focus on that instead of his guilt after concealing things from Sam. He placed his hands lightly above the wound, his Grace allowing him to clearly see the effects of the Demonic poison. He looked like he was concentrating, and then Sam was able to detect a slight flicker of light between Gabriel's hands.

Suddenly, Gabriel stumbled backwards, sinking to his knees on the rug. He looked a lot like he was struggling to stay conscious. Sam rushed to his side, putting his hands out to steady him. Gabriel looked up at Sam, his face a picture of confusion and shame.

"I couldn't do it." He sounded almost childlike. "It's too strong, when I tried to burn the poison off with my Grace, it turned around and almost drained me." Sam helped Gabriel to his feet, but the Archangel stumbled, and Sam sighed, wrapping his arms around Gabriel's slight form and lifting him up into his arms. Gabriel tried to protest, something about not being a princess, but Sam ignored him.

"Back in a moment." He said over his shoulder, carrying Gabriel out of the room.

Sam set Gabriel down in their bed in the attic room, tucking the blankets around him. The Archangel had fallen asleep, but Sam knew he just had to rest for a while so his Grace could 'recharge'. He'd seen Gabriel drained before, but not from something that should have been so simple. He sighed worriedly, pressed a kiss to Gabriel's forehead, and left the room.

On his way back downstairs to Bobby, he stopped outside the room Dean and Castiel were sharing. Listening intently to make sure the coast was clear, he knocked on the door.

Castiel opened the door moments later. The Angel was wearing pair of pyjama pants and one of Dean's T-Shirts. He looked a little confused.

"Is there something you needed, Sam?" He asked tilting his head to the side.

"Gabriel just tried to heal Bobby's wound." Sam explained, "It backfired, he's completely drained."

Castiel nodded. "Thank-you Sam." He replied, "Would you like me to examine Gabriel?"

"I think he just needs to rest," Sam replied.

"I believe that would be optimal." Castiel nodded, "Goodnight Sam."

"Night Cas." Sam closed the door and left Castiel and his brother in peace.

Sam returned to Bobby, and found that he'd dozed off. Not wanting to wake him, Sam gently re-bandaged the wound, then emptied that water-bowl in the kitchen sink. With nothing else to do, he decided that going to bed was the most sensible option.

He changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, crawling into bed next to Gabriel. His angel mumbled sleepily and curled into him, not really awake. Sam smiled, wrapping his arms around Gabriel and drifting into sleep, blissfully free from nightmares and visions.

Sam was woken several hours later by Dean, who was shaking his shoulder.

"Sam. Sam! Wake up." He brother snapped "Crowley's back. And he's got news."


	4. Plans

They gathered in the kitchen, Crowley paced the length of the room, while Sam sat down at the table with Dean and Castiel. Gabriel, awake but weak, was hunched in his own chair, still looking sleepy and mildly ruffled. He was huddled in a blanket and seemed generally annoyed at the world, even if he was interested in Crowley's news. His hair was mussed and every few minutes it looked like he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. They'd all agreed not to wake Bobby; he was weak enough that he needed all the rest the others could allow him.

"Well?" Dean finally burst out angrily, "What?"

Crowley didn't even look up at him, just continued in his pacing.

"Crowley?" Sam asked, standing up. He stood right in front of the Demon, placing his hands firmly on his shoulders and giving him a curious look. "What is it?"

Crowley let out a long, slow breath, and answered in an uncharacteristically quiet voice.

"The poison. There's none left." He looked up at Sam, part defiant, part afraid, "There's none left to make the antidote with. Without the poison, the antidote's impossible to make."

Swearing in various forms and languages circled its way around the kitchen. Even Gabriel, who was still wrapped up in his blanket, muttered a few Enochian obscenities that made Castiel give him a sharp look and raise his eyebrows. Naturally, the younger Angel hasn't so much sworn as simply become angry and a little afraid, sensations he was picking up from Dean.

Sam's knuckles were white as he clenched his fists. "Is there another way?" He asked, his voice rigidly controlled. Crowley looked up at him, a frown creasing his face.

"Yes, but…"

"There isn't enough time." Gabriel pointed out from his chair, sitting up slightly then slumping back down as the effort of reading Crowley's mind tugged at his weakened Grace.

"Gabriel!" Sam burst out, torn between grateful concerned and annoyed. He moves to stand beside his angel, and Gabriel leant his head against Sam's hip, wrapping a possessive arm around his waist, before continuing to speak.

"The poison, we have to recreate it, mix it all up again, but it can take weeks to make."

"Bobby doesn't have weeks!" Dean burst out from the other side of the table, getting to his feet angrily. Castiel put a hand on Dean's arm, trying to get him to sit down again, but Dean wasn't having any of it.

"Dean, please, you need to calm down." Castiel said gently, his voice pleading. Surprisingly, just hearing how upset Castiel sounded pulled Dean out of his anger. He turned to his angel for a moment gave him an apologetic look and sat down.

"Sorry." He muttered. Sam shot Castiel a thankful look. Other than Bobby, the Angel seemed to be the only one who could shut Dean up when he was pissed off.

There was silence in the kitchen. Everyone seemed to be counting on everyone else to make the first move. Finally, Gabriel spoke up from under his blanket.

"I don't see another solution."

Sam quickly agreed "We have to keep fighting." He looked around the room, catching everyone's eye giving them a look that clearly said, 'we do _not _give up'. He got varying reactions. Dean met his gaze with a strong look of his own, practically a mirror of what Sam was saying. Castiel's eyes were wide, but he seemed to understand to need to fight. Gabriel nodded silently, a small smile on his mouth, but it was the look Crowley gave him that had Sam confused. His expression was thankful, relieved even, and scared. Sam realized it in a flash: Crowley was out of his depth here. It came as a shock to the Hunter that the King of Hell himself was out of his depth in dealing with a poison that came from the very realm he ruled.

They sat up for the rest of the night, discussing possible ways of recreating the poison. Crowley explained that for the most part, it would have to be made in Hell. Sam was unsure when it had happened, but both Dean and himself trusted Crowley when he said this. Gabriel offered up comments for an hour or two, but he kept dozing off, still weak and tired from not being allowed to let his Grace built back up on its own, so Sam finally took him back upstairs to bed. Naturally, the Archangel protested, but was soon properly asleep.

By the time the sun came up and Bobby awoke, they had a rough plan worked out. Only one thing was missing; the blood of the Demon who had made the original poison. Crowley had his ideas on this, but it would all be useless if Bobby's condition had deteriorated too far.

Thankfully it hadn't; when Bobby woke he was tired and grumpy, but insisted on walking into the kitchen for breakfast unaided. He managed, somehow, before sinking into his chair at the table and wanting to know where the bacon and eggs were. Everyone set about the business of making breakfast.

Crowley chased Sam, Dean and Castiel away from the stove, taking charge of cooking the bacon and eggs. Dean set the table, digging plates out of the dresser and cutlery out of a draw. Castiel made toast, then searched through the fridge, finding butter, jam and orange juice which all went onto the table. Sam made coffee, which was a relief, since it was widely known that Sam made the best coffee ever, and Dean's tasted poisonous.

Finally they all sat down to breakfast, and between bites, Crowley explained about the antidote and how it would work. His estimation for how long it would take made Bobby frown.

"Three weeks? Ya sure?" He asked, a little incredulously.

"Positive." Crowley replied, taking a bite of bacon. He chewed and swallowed, "It's less than ideal, but at least now we have a chance."

Bobby nodded soberly, taking a gulp of coffee. He reached for the whisky bottle on the counter, but Crowley got there first, whisking it away from him.

"Hey!" Bobby complained, grabbing for it. Crowley stepped back, shaking his head.

"Not while you're ill, darling." He placed the bottle on a shelf, and then sat back down, sipping the cup of tea he had made – it appeared the King of Hell carried teabags with him wherever he went.

There was silence around the table as everyone finished their breakfast. After a few minutes, Crowley got up, wiped his hands on a tea towel, and announced.

"Must be off, Demons to harass, poison to brew, you know how it iss." Everyone nodded in his direction. "Stay alive, love." Crowley added on his way out, bending to murmur in Bobby's ear. Like the previous day, Sam dashed after him. Dean, Castiel and Bobby watched him go, looking a little confused. Finally, Dean shrugged, stole some of Castiel's bacon and took a massive gulp of coffee.

"What this time?" Crowley asked, Sam not even having to make his presence known.

"The Demon, the one from my vision." Sam explained hurriedly.

"Why does this feel awfully familiar?" Crowley quipped.

Sam shot him a mild bitchface, "You know who he is, right?"

Crowley sighed. "Unfortunately, I know him all too well. Annoying little bugger, keep meaning to kill him. Haven't got around to it yet."

"What's his name?" Sam asked urgently.

"Oh, that's easy," Crowley almost smiled, "He calls himself Peregrine. Pretentious little prick." And with that, he was gone. Sam smile grimly. He had the information he needed. Now all he needed was a little time alone for his plan to come to fruition.

Sam's plan had to be put on hold however, because Gabriel woke up around midday, Grace back to normal levels and feeling rather sulky and incredibly clingy. Sam was first alerted to this fact when he returned from going running with Dean – he hadn't given his brother a choice, Castiel needed some peace and Dean was getting bored enough to start breaking things – to be greeted by a small, now fully awake Archangel who clung to him and glared at the world, before muttering 'you all shut me out again' and storming off. Sam was sure that no matter how long he was Bonded to him, he would never fully understand Gabriel.

He followed his Angel up to the attic. Sure enough, when he arrived, he found the skylight had been pushed open, and there was a chair underneath it.

"Gabriel?" He asked, clambering through the skylight and onto the roof. He hadn't sat out here since he was a teenager in a huff at his father, and then it had been Dean who had finally climbed up to his to coax him back inside.

Gabriel was sitting on the roof, his huge wings out, surrounding him in a cocoon of dark brown, black-tipped feathers. When he heard Sam call his name, he peered out over a feathery tip, before huddling deeper under the feathers.

"Come on Gabe." Sam sighed, sitting down carefully on the roof next to the Archangel. He moved slowly, not wanting to upset his Mate any further. Gabriel looked up at him with big, baleful gold eyes. Sam sighed, wrapping an arm around him, wings and all, and pressing a kiss against the top of his head.

"Come inside." He said gently, "You're going to freeze to death out here." It was rather cold on the roof, October having made itself known in the last week.

Gabriel gave him a look that clearly asked him 'Really? You know I'm an Archangel, right?' but he huffed in irritation and let Sam pull him gently back towards the skylight, and slid back into the attic after him. He stalked over to the bed, flopping down irritatedly, concealing his wings again. Sam smiled and lay back next to him, hands behind his head.

"Are you gonna tell me what's bothering you?" He asked softly.

"I don't trust him!" Dean complained, coming out of the bathroom in his jeans only, rubbing his hair dry with a towel. Castiel, who had been stretched out on the bed, reading, looked up curiously.

"Who is it that you do not trust, Dean?" he asked in his calm manner. Dean started rifling through the small set of draws that held his and Castiel's clothes. He pulled out a grey T-Shirt and pulled it on before answering.

"Crowley." He replied, dropping onto the bed next to Castiel, and peering over his shoulder at the ancient looking volume in the Angel's hands. The text was in Enochian, so he couldn't read it.

"What're you reading?" he asked, wrapping an arm around Castiel's shoulders and changing the subject hurriedly because Gabriel had threatened the smite him – again – if he didn't calm down and stop stressing Castiel.

"It's a work of fiction." Castiel explained, running a hand quickly across the pages. "I discovered it earlier in the library while we were searching for information. Now that there is nothing useful I am able to do, I feel that it is acceptable to spend time in reading."

"You know," Dean murmured, "There are better things you could be 'spending time' in." When Castiel looked over at him, eyes widened in slight confusion, Dean winked once. The lust that darkened Castiel's eyes was unmistakable.

"I dunno." Gabriel admitted, turning onto his stomach and resting his chin on his hands. He smiled down at Sam, but then the smile fell from his face, "I just feel something's not quite right." He admitted.

That had Sam's alarm bell going off. When it had to do with things other than sugar, sex or Dean, Sam tended to trust Gabriel's judgement; what he felt. If Gabriel felt that something wasn't right, it was because something wasn't. Just, what? What could have Gabriel so uneasy. Unless, and the thought hit Sam like a ton of bricks, what if Gabriel could sense Sam's unease about his plan through their bond, and was uneasy without knowing why. Sam quickly took a deep breath and made himself relax. The change in Gabriel was instant. The tension seemed to just flow off him, vanishing as if it had never been there in the first place. Sam smiled. Now all he had to do was wait until Gabriel was distracted, then he could put his plan into action.


	5. Crossroads

Sam's chance came two days later. Gabriel, who had been going a little stir crazy but kept refusing to leave, decided it was in his best interests to start bothering Dean. Castiel, who had been nose first in his book for the past few days, and, too Dean's annoyance, nights as well, was no help at all.

While Gabriel watched and waited for what he termed 'the opportune moment' to enact his next prank on Dean, Sam knew he had to act now.

"Just going to the store," He called out, "Back in a bit."

Dean grunted an acknowledgement. Gabriel appeared next to him to kiss him goodbye and ask him to bring back chocolate. Sam nearly lost his nerve then, nearly didn't go through with his plan, but he had no choice. So he kissed Gabriel, told him he could get his own chocolate, his Grace was, after all, back to full strength, and added 'love you' as he left the room.

Sam checked in on Bobby one his way out. The older man had taken up residence in the lounge, as he said it was an easier place to 'keep an eye on all ya idjits'. Not that he was up to keeping an eye on anyone, since he spent most of his time asleep. Sam, consequently, spent most of his day checking on Bobby, mostly to make sure he wasn't feverish, and trying to keep Gabriel in check.

Sam drove one of Bobby's cars, knowing Dean would probably kill him if he drove the Impala. When he reached the turnoff that would lead him into town, he ignored it, driving out towards nowhere. He was silent as he drove, stubbornly not thinking about what he was going to do. He knew that there were only a few people he would do this for; his family.

Finally reaching the crossroad he was looking for, and satisfied that he was far enough away, Sam stopped the car. Quickly, he grabbed the box he'd brought with him and stepped out, slamming the door behind him. The air around him felt almost charged, and Sam had to fight against the sensation growing within him – he shouldn't be here, this place was evil, he should at least have a weapon with him. But no, he wasn't here to fight, he was here for another reason altogether. He was here because he had to do something, because he knew what he could do to help. The others would be furious, he knew, but he also knew he was doing, perhaps not the right things, but whatever he was doing, he was doing it for the right reasons. He hoped everyone else would understand.

Sam strode to the middle of the crossroads, and knelt down. He scraped the dirt away a little, making a small hole, big enough to bury the box he'd brought with him. As soon as the hole was deep enough, he placed the box in it, and smoothed earth back over the top. By the time he stood and dusted off his hands, there was a demon, lounging against the car, a little way off.

She was pretty, Sam noted, in some distant part of his mind. Long, black hair fell in soft waves down her back to her thin waist. When she straightened up from her place against the car, she seemed tiny still, maybe even shorter than Gabriel. She wore a red dress and her feet were bare. Her eyes, which at first were green, flashed red when he turned to look at her. She approached Sam, a predatory smile on her lips.

"Sam Winchester," She purred, "I thought I might be seeing you here soon."

Sam didn't reply. He wondered why Peregrine, the demon he had tried to summon in the first place, wasn't there.

"He's busy, I'm his replacement." The demon said promptly, as if hearing him, "But, let's talk about what you want, shall we? I think I know….All that trouble going on? Robert Singer, poisoned? Obvious. Let me guess, you want me to save him?"

"Can you?" Sam asked, hope sparking inside him. He pushed it back down, not daring to let it grow just yet.

"Of course I can." She smiled, walking around him slowly, eyeing him, "But you know the price."

Sam bit his lip, nodded, "I know the price"

"No you don't, you just think you do." She stopped in front of him, looking up at him with red eyes once more, "I'm changing the deal. I don't want you, oh no, I'm not interested in you, all I want is your soul. And I want it_right now._ You get to live, get to stay with your precious Angel and your little family, but no more soul. You don't get to _feel_." She smirked, "So, is it worth it? Do you care that much?"

"Yes." Sam snapped back, "I care that much."

"Well then," She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, "You know what comes next."

Sam nodded sharply, and she leant up towards him. "Wait." He said sharply, "Say it. Say the deal."

She pouted, "Your soul in exchange for Robert Singer's instant and total recovery." She said sweetly, looking anything but.

"Nothing more, nothing less." Sam replied.

When she kissed him, he refused to kiss her back. She stepped away from him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She smirked at him. "It's done." She replied, "I'll being seeing you, Sam Winchester." And she was gone.

Sam stood alone in the crossroads, looking around slightly confused. He felt the same, but also a little different. He knew what not having a soul should feel like, but this…this wasn't the same. He felt empty, like everything that had made him who he was had just vanished. But it was worth it. It had to be worth it. He had to be able to still do some good. Knowing he'd find out when he got back, Sam recovered the summoning box from the crossroads and returned to the car, heading for home.

Gabriel was sitting on the bench in the kitchen, kicking his feet out in front of him, listening to them thump back onto the cupboard doors. Dean, sitting at the table sharpening his throwing knives, glared up at him.

"Cut that out." He complained, "I'm the one with the knives here."

Gabriel snorted a laugh, as if to say 'yeah, and that always works,' and continued kicking the cupboard. Dean rolled his eyes and returned to his work.

Suddenly, Gabriel froze, feet resting against the cupboard, and swore. Dean looked up, and saw the look of utter panic on Gabriel's face.

"What?" He asked. When Gabriel didn't reply, Dean got up from his chair and crossed the kitchen, "Gabriel, what is it?" He asked, his voice sharp. He shook the Archangel lightly, which seemed to snap him out of the trance he had fallen into.

"Sam…" was the only word Gabriel managed to get out, before he fell off the bench and onto the floor, curling in on himself and screaming in agony.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, but the angel was already at his side, although weather summoned by his shout or Gabriel's, he was unsure.

"Gabriel." Castiel dropped to his knees next to his brother, placing a hand on his forehead. Gabriel slumped, unconscious, and Castiel picked up his limp form as if he weighed as much as a doll – which, to the Angel, he probably did.

"What happened?" Castiel asked Dean, looking down at his brother with concern.

"I don't know." Dean shrugged, "One minute he's annoying the crap outta me, the next he just went quiet, and when I asked him what was up, he just said 'Sam", and then that happened."  
Castiel thought, then an expression like he was concentrating flitted briefly across his face. He became very serious. "It's Sam." He confirmed. "He just sold his soul to a Demon."


	6. Bad Deal

"He's done what?" Dean asked incredulously. He couldn't believe the words he was hearing. Surely Sam knew what a stupid idea that was. It was like, number one on the list of things you just _didn't_ do. Sell your soul to a demon. "You sure?" He asked Castiel, hoping he had heard wrong.

"He sold his soul. I am not entirely sure why," Castiel puzzled, "But it explains Gabriel's distressed state."

"Think I know why." Said a gruff voice from the doorway.

Dean and Castiel turned as one, looking towards the door. Bobby stood in the doorway, not leaning on anything for support, in fact, he looked completely fine, no longer pale and weak like the last time Dean had looked in on him.

"Bobby!" Dean was – naturally – very surprised. "You're…you're alright?"

"Seem ta be." Bobby replied, shrugging.

Castiel passed him quickly, placing Gabriel on the sofa in the lounge room. He returned to the kitchen, and stopped in front of Bobby. The man gave him a quick nod, and Castiel extended a hand towards him, concentrating. After a moment, he said firmly, "There's no trace of the poison in your system. You appear to be completely cured." No-one spoke for a few awkward moments.

They were saved from having to make conversation by the sound of a car in the driveway. They all exchanged a quick look, knowing who it was.

Sam.

Still, Dean reached for his knife, ever cautious. They waited in tense silence, listening. The car stopped. A door slammed. Footsteps. Suddenly, angry voices from outside.

"You're a bloody fool!"

"I did what I had to Crowley!"

"Well I don't know if I can get it back."

More discontented mumbling and arguing, then Sam's voice, dangerously soft, "I don't care."

The front door slammed open, and Sam stalked inside. He ignored Dean and Castiel and strode straight over to Bobby. He looked at him, eyes slightly narrowed, the turned to Castiel.

"He's completely cured?" He asked, his voice void of emotion.

Castiel nodded, tense and angry. Sam turned back to Bobby, gave him a look that none of them could read, and then made to leave. He didn't get far before Bobby hit him.

Sam stumbled against the wall, pushing himself up and glaring.

"What was that for?" he asked, still emotionless. He knew he should feel angry, hurt even, but he just…didn't

"For being so stupid!" Dean was the one to answer that, getting right up in Sam's face. "Didn't you stop and think about what the hell you were doing?"

"I thought a lot." Sam snapped back, "That's why I did it."

Everyone stared at Sam and Dean, the room filled with a tense confusion of anger and frustration. Crowley, lounging in the doorway, finally spoke up.

"I don't know if I can get your soul back."

"I know." Sam replied, as if that was all there was to say on the matter. "Where's Gabriel?"

It was Castiel's turn to get angry at Sam them. He grabbed the man by the arm and dragged him into the lounge room.

"I had to force him into unconsciousness." The Angel hissed, "Because your soul being with a Demon had him in agony. Didn't you think about what it would do to him, selling your soul? Your soul is the fundamental part of the Bond you share with him."

"Shit." Sam muttered, dropping onto a chair. He sat there for a moment, lost in thought. If he had been able to feel emotions, he could guess how he would be feeling, and the idea of that had him…not upset, but uneasy. He felt strange, he knew he should be feeling things, but he couldn't.

Castiel glared at him again, before leaving Sam alone with his unconscious Mate. He wanted to make sure Dean had calmed down after his outburst and hadn't gone out and crashed the Impala again.

Sam sat in silence for almost an hour, just looking at Gabriel. Gabriel. His lover, his partner, his Mate. What had he done to him? He could remember, almost, that he had loved Gabriel, and that Gabriel had loved him. He could barely remember what that felt like now, almost as if even his memories of emotion were fading. Carefully, he reached out a placed his hand on Gabriel's shoulder.

"Gabriel?" He asked softly, "I know….I know what I did hurt you, and I'm really sorry. I didn't know it would hurt you like this. I…Crowley's looking for a way to fix things, I'm sorry." Sam hoped he was saying the right things. He was having trouble making even simple decisions. Dean teased him about it, but Sam knew he was an emotional person; a lot of his choices were guided by emotion, not logic. Sam waited for hours for a response he wasn't sure was going to come.

It was late evening, and silence had fallen over Bobby's house. Dean was out in one of the sheds, tinkering with the Impala, while Castiel sat in the car's back seat and read. Sam remained with Gabriel, not feeling anything, but objectively knowing that if he _could _feel, he would be feeling incredibly lost. He also knew that if he could feel, this whole situation wouldn't have been a problem in the slightest. He knew what he had done was stupid, but he hadn't seen any other option. How else could he have saved Bobby? The man was like a father to both him and Dean, and Sam knew either of them would die for him in a heartbeat.

Bobby himself was in the kitchen. Drinking. He didn't want to think about what Sam had done for him. It was a Hell of a sacrifice to make, and as happy as Bobby was to be alive, he was more than irritated at what Sam had done for him. He hadn't been asking for help dammit, and he would have accepted death if that had been the final result. He was, surprisingly, completely at ease with the fact that he had nearly died, and would have died if Sam hadn't made the deal. What he realised disturbed him more than anything else was the fact that Sam had traded his soul, his _soul_, which was central to his bond with Gabriel, and Hell, Bobby had seen how close they were, would have been blind not to see it, and he knew what that must have cost Sam.

An almighty crash sounded from the living room, followed by a torrent of surprisingly fluent swearing in what was definitely Sam's voice. Bobby got up, sighing a little. He wasn't sure about facing Sam right then, he was still unsure about how to react to and around him. But he went anyway, on the off-chance that Sam could actually be hurt.

When he entered the lounge room, he seriously considered just turning around and walking back out again. It would perhaps spare him the headache.

Sam was standing on the far side of the room, locked in a glaring match with Gabriel, who had a heavy book in his hand and looked like he was threatening to throw it at Sam. Sam was glaring and rubbing his head, as if he had already been hit by something. They both turned their gazes – Sam's strangely emotionless, Gabriel's distressed and angry – on him as one, and Bobby got the feeling that really, he should leave the pair of them be to sort out their differences. It was, in every sense of the expression that Bobby could think of, simply a lover's quarrel. He huffed in annoyance.

"I'll just leave the two of ya to it then." He muttered, turning and leaving.

As he left, he heard Gabriel already starting up his tirade, "He's not even grateful, see? Did you even consider what was going to happen to us?"

Definitely not something he wanted to deal with.

Sitting in the back seat of the Impala as Dean tinkered with the engine, Castiel read the last page of his book, turned it, realised that he'd finished it, and closed the heavy volume carefully, setting it down on the seat next to him. He felt strange, almost like something was important was missing. He looked around, and then down at himself. He was perfectly intact, and he could see Dean, could feel him through their bond. So what was wrong?

"Dean..?" He called out, unsure of himself.

Dean was at his side, wiping his hands on a rag, "Yeah?" He asked. When he saw the lost look on Castiel's face he dropped the rag onto the bench behind him, "What's up?"

"I…I am not sure." Castiel was confused, he looked up at Dean with wide eyes, "I feel…empty."

Dean's brow furrowed, mind working at a million miles an hour to try and work out what was up. Then, it clicked.

"Did you just finish your book?" He asked.

"Dean, I do not see how that is relevant." Castiel complained.

"Shh," Dean told him, "Just tell me."

"Yes."

"No wonder you're depressed then." Dean slid into the back seat next to Castiel, sliding an arm around his shoulders, "Sam used to do this every time he finished a book, get all mopey. It was almost funny." Dean pressed a kiss against Castiel's forehead and let his angel rest against him, "Don't worry, you'll feel better soon."

Castiel nodded.

"Although, if you wanted, I could take your mind off it." Dean grinned down at Castiel, then winked.

In Bobby's lounge room, Sam and Gabriel still faced each other, the air full of tension and anger. Sam was standing, hands clenched at his sides, emotionless. Gabriel was on the opposite side of the room, and from all appearances, his self-control was wavering. Tendrils of his Grace were reaching out around his vessel, as if he were struggling to contain himself. His wings were flickering in and out of the visible plane of existence rapidly, apparent testimony to his anger.

But it wasn't anger that Gabriel was feeling. He felt empty. Broken. But more than that, he felt like some integral part of him had been ripped away. In a way, that was exactly what had happened. When he and Sam had made their relationship official, Gabriel's Grace and Sam's Soul had melded together for a time, meaning that any being with the power to sense souls would be able to sense who each of them belonged to. On top of that, when in close proximity to each other, they could sense not only the other's location, but also what they were feeling. Now that Sam's soul was in the possession of a Demon, Gabriel was in agony, feeling the Demonic power that his mate's soul was enveloped by. What made it worse was Sam's apparent lack of reaction to the whole situation.

Gabriel knew that he was being a little bit selfish. If Sam hadn't done what he'd done, Bobby would be dead, but it didn't stop Gabriel from wishing, in a dark, needy corner of his heart, that things had gone another way.

He couldn't stay there. He had to get out, get away from it, away from Sam. Because that was the thing. The being that stood in front of him wasn't Sam. It looked like Sam, it sounded like Sam, it even moved a bit like Sam, but it wasn't _his Sam_. His Sam was vibrant and funny and emotional and alive. This was an echo, and empty shell.

"I'm leaving." Gabriel ground out through clenched teeth, hardly trusting himself to speak, "I can't be around you right now." And like that, he was gone, not even snapping his fingers.

The day wore on towards night, with Bobby drinking in the kitchen, Sam sitting in the lounge room starting at the floor and Dean and Castiel not reappearing from the shed. No-one bothered them, although weather that was because they were wrapped up in their own thoughts or because they were wise to what was probably going on between the two, remained unclear.

It was into this environment of quiet tension tinged with regret and exhaustion that Crowley appeared, hair askew, eyes wild and a rip in the sleeve of his jacket, in the middle of Bobby's kitchen. Dean and Castiel, the angel having sensed Crowley's presence and his chaotic mindset, appeared moments later in the doorway, almost colliding with Sam, who had seen into the kitchen from the lounge room and gotten to his feet.

"What is it?" Dean asked, his voice harsh and demanding. He mightn't like Crowley all that much, but he had seen the Demon in a lot of rough situations, and knew it took a lot to throw him off balance.

"Hell," Crowley said, "Is revolting."

"Duh." Dean muttered, not getting it, "I dunno what you see in it."

"Not like that, you moron." Crowley made a frustrated gesture, "Hell is revolting against my rule, and - "

He didn't get to finish the sentence before something came crashing through the door.

"As I was about to say," He sighed, "We appear to be under attack."


	7. Get Down!

"Downstairs!" Bobby shouted, gesturing wildly. They sprinted out of the kitchen, aiming for the hallway and the stairs down to the panic room. However, the moment they rounded the corner, they were confronted by a horde of demons, approaching them at speed.

"Dammit!" Dean swore, "Cas?"

Next moment, they were all down in the panic room. Castiel looked around quickly. "The warding on this room is not sufficient." He stated firmly, "Dean, I require some assistance."

Dean nodded, allowing Castiel to place a hand on his forehead, thinking the instructions for additional protection sigils right into his head. Dead nodded, casting around for a bowl. He found nothing. _Dammit_, he'd have to improvise.

Dean waited until Castiel's back was turned – there was no way his mate would let him do this – then unsheathed the knife he habitually carried on his belt. Checking once again, he drew the blade quickly over his palm, clenching his fist around the blood that welled up.

"Son of a bitch." He muttered through the pain. Quickly, he started work on the sigils, dipping a finger into the blood in his palm. He only had to draw three, Castiel having already completed the others.

"Dean?" The angel asked, regarding him intently, "Where did you get…" He grabbed Dean's bleeding hand and quickly healed the deep cut, "That was a foolish idea." He reprimanded, "I simply wanted you to assist me once I had obtained blood. I did not mean for you to-"

"Shut up." Dean smiled, leaning in and pressing a light kiss against his lips, "I'm fine."

"We've got more important things ta worry about." Bobby pointed out. He was passing out weapons. Sam already held the Colt, and Dean twirled his knife in one hand, accepting the shotgun loaded with rocksalt with the other. Castiel produced his own blade, the weapon looking surprisingly natural in his hands. Crowley took the rifle Bobby offered him, shooting him a curious look.

"Exorcism ritual carved on the bullets." Bobby explained shortly.

"How come they haven't got in yet?" Sam asked, "It doesn't even sound like they've found us."

As if his words had called them, the horde started hammering on the door. They were kept out in part by the sigils and protective charms that had been employed against such an eventuality, but everyone in the room knew that they wouldn't be kept out forever. Castiel stepped forward, slightly in front of Dean, as if to shield him. Dean snorted and stepped up next to him, hand shifting on the handle of his knife.

They could all hear the door straining, and knew it wouldn't be long. Castiel and Dean exchanged a brief look. Sam rolled his shoulders, almost looking excited about the coming combat. Crowley, standing a little behind Bobby, leaned forward suddenly and whispered something in his ear. Bobby gave him a surprised look, and nodded quickly, turning back towards the doorway.

That was it. The door broke inwards, and the first of the demons came rushing in, piling down the stairs in a way that – had they not been out to kill the room's occupants – would have been mildly comical. As it was, there was nothing comical about the situation.

Shotgun blasts ran out, and a demon flinched backwards, copping a salt round in the chest. But more were coming.

Dean was deadly with his shotgun, pushing the horde back, keeping them from advancing while Crowley and Bobby picked them off with the rifles. With every hit from the carved bullets, a demon smoked out, screaming and vanishing back to Hell. Sam hung back, waiting. The Colt only had limited bullets, and with no chance to reload, he had to time his shots carefully. His emotionless mind calculated his shots precosely, waiting for just the right moment to strike. He knew he hadn't much time to get his shots off however. It had to be soon. Castiel could get in amongst the Demons to go about the business of Smiting, but that couldn't happen until Sam had fired all of the bullets from the Colt, since no-one wanted any accidents of that sort to happen.

As the first wave of Demons were repelled, there was a brief pause in the furious attack. Everyone glanced at everyone else, wordlessly making sure that they were all still alive and unwounded. No chance to reload weapons though, as moments later, another surge of Demons began forcing their way into the room.

This time it was Sam who got off the first shots, killing the Demons he hit instantly. His marksmanship was excellent, every shot found its mark perfectly.

"Cas!" Sam shouted about the gunfire, shouting and general noise, "You're good to go!" Castiel acknowledged him by wading right into the thick of the battle, blade whirling in one hand, the other ready to Smite anything that came within arm's reach. He was a force to be reckoned with, that was for sure, but there were still Demons pouring their way in. Bobby and Crowley had long since discarded their rifles, switching to hand weapons, and although Bobby was working on shouting an exorcism ritual, his voice just wasn't carrying over the noise. Across the room, Dean threw down his – now jammed – shotgun in disgust, unsheathing the demon-killing knife.

It was chaos in the panic room. The floor was littered with dead bodies and discarded weapons. A Demon that has lost its host was screeching around, looking for a new one. Crowley and Bobby were back up against the far wall, barely keeping the Demons off them. Sam and Dean were back to back, reduced to knives and their own hands to stay alive, while Castiel was penned in at the centre of the chaos, and his grace was weakening fast.

In amongst all the chaos, Sam spotted a disturbingly familiar figure. Petite, dark red dress, long black hair. He only got a glimpse, but he knew it was her. The demon that had his soul. But he didn't have time to think about that. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

"Dean!" he shouted above the noise, "We need to get to Cas, he's getting weak!"  
"I know!" Dean yelled back, and together they pushed forward against the Demons and towards Castiel.

A few moments after that, Crowley felt a stab of white hot pain as a knife sunk into his shoulder. Too high though, to hit anything vital, and not poisoned or cursed. It might have hurt his host, but he quickly shut the pain off. He didn't have time for that now. But even with the pain gone, he knew this body was weakening quickly. None of them had much time left.

They were surrounded, backed-up together into the centre of the room. Castiel was weakened, barely able to stand, but refusing Dean's assistance. He couldn't let it show, couldn't let the Demons see. Dean was limping, a knife having grazed his shin and cut deeply. Sam had blood running over his face. There was blood flowing freely from Crowley's wound and Bobby's shoulder was plainly dislocated. They were a miserable, defeated bunch.

Yet, strangely enough, the Demons hadn't made a move to kill them.

"What are you waiting for?" Dean shouted, angry, afraid and despairing.

A Demon, who looked to be the leader of the horde, stepped forward. Both Bobby and Crowley recognized him instantly. Next to him, was the petite, dark-haired Demon, who had taken Sam's soul.

"Peregrine." Crowley snarled, "Well, I can't say I'm surprised, really. But Clarice? Helping him? I thought you saw yourself as above 'such things'."

"Gotta get my hands dirty if I want a shot at real power." Clarice replied, arching a brow distastefully. She stepped forward. "Well," She purred, "Little Sam Winchester. I said I'd be seeing you now, didn't I?" She took another step closer. "How it_ feel_ with no soul? Empty? How's your little Archangel going? I don't see him here. Did he run away the moment he saw you? I'll bet he couldn't stand to look at you." An almost feral smile curled her lips upwards, "But I can…" She reached forward to trail a hand over his chest, but a voice stopped her, cold and hard as iron.

"You touch him; you die."

Every pair of eyes in the room turned to the figure at the top of the stairs. A figure that was now sauntering into the panic room as if the Demons surrounding him were no cause for concern.

Gabriel.


	8. Not Exactly Pure

Clarice laughed, "Really?" She shook her hair back over her shoulders, "He's not worth anything to you, not anymore, not without a soul. Why hold onto something you don't need? Let him go where he can be properly _appreciated_." She purred, "After all, I'm already halfway there. I have his soul. All I need is his body."

"First mistake." Gabriel retorted, stepping calmly into the room. He approached Clarice, and the Demons between them parted in front of him, sensing his power, "Assuming I won't just kill you all, which I will. Second mistake; Telling me you have Sam's soul. Honestly? Really bad idea right there. And the Third mistake? Ooooh, this is a biggie. The third mistake you made, you stupid bitch, is _assuming that I don't care about Sam._" Gabriel finished his little speech, and looked towards the group of prisoners, specifically at Castiel.

"Cassie?" he asked, "You know what to do."

Castiel nodded gravely, a look of concentration forming on his face. Gabriel winked at Sam, and turned back to the Demons.

"And I forgot." He grinned, "One mistake you _all _made. Never piss off an Archangel. It isn't pretty."

The demons were all looking intently at him now, part curious, and perhaps a little bit afraid. Gabriel stepped out into the middle of the room, his posture loose and relaxed. Slowly, he raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. The room filled with blindingly white light, as Gabriel's immensely powerful Grace expanded, Smiting all the demons where they stood.

Sam, Dean, Bobby and especially Crowley were protected from the blast by Castiel, who threw his own dwindling Grace out around them like a shield. As the light faded, Castiel swayed on his feet and Dean had to put an arm tight around his waist to stop him from falling to the ground.

Silence reigned in the panic room. As final traces of Gabriel's Grace returned to his vessel, the scene was revealed. The room was empty, the bodies having been burned away by residual Grace. All except for one.

Clarice was cowering in a corner. She really didn't look pretty. Her skin was red and raw, blistering as if she had been exposed to immense heat, and in some patched it was completely blackened. Her dress had burned and melted onto her skin, and her long hair was now a tangle of singed ash. She was screaming.

As Gabriel approached her, Crowley joined him, standing tall and resolute despite the bleeding wound in his shoulder. Gabriel shot the Demon King a brief look, saw the cold, hard light in his eyes, and nodded.

"Well that wasn't terribly clever now, was it?" Crowley gave Clarice a distasteful look, toeing her dismissively with one shoe. "But it looks like you're learned your lesson. She's all yours, Angel." He stepped back, "I'd say make it painful, but I don't suppose you need that encouragement."

The look Gabriel gave him said it all.

In the background, Dean had lifted Castiel up into his arms, and was carrying him out of the panic room, ignoring the protests his Angel was mumbling into his chest. Bobby put a hand on Crowley's arm, and the Demon also followed him upstairs, leaving Sam, Gabriel and Clarice in the room, alone.

"You don't have to stay." Gabriel said softly, ignoring Clarice for a moment, "I can get your Soul back to you without you having to see this bit."

Sam remained where he was. "No." He said firmly, "I can stay. I can help."

Gabriel shook his head, "I'm not having you take part in this….what I'm gonna do, it's not exactly pure. Especially since I'm, well, me."

"Has any part of our lives even been?" Sam retorted. He stood beside Gabriel, strong and determined, and almost angry, if that has been possible.

"Ha. Guess not." Gabriel shrugged, "But I'm warning you now, this isn't pretty."

He stood over Clarice, and extended his hand. His Grace pooled between his fingers, and extended towards her, binding her to the ground so she couldn't move. "I'd warn you that this will hurt," Gabriel smirked, "But I think that you know that already." He reached forward, and as Sam watched, Gabriel's hand actually entered Clarice's chest, and seemed to be feeling around.

Clarice convulsed and screamed, arching against where Gabriel had bound her. Her skin sizzled around where Gabriel's hand entered her chest, and where she was bound to the floor. Gabriel reached deeper.

Suddenly, Gabriel tensed, then flexed his wrist, as if her had found something. Clarice's screaming went up a few decibels, and she thrashed more wildly.

"Got it." Gabriel grinning, withdrawing his hand, which was soaked in blood up past the wrist. Clarice stopped screaming, let out a long, gurgling sigh, and went still. Sam couldn't see if anything was in his hand, but then Gabriel closed his fingers and smiled. "Come here Sam." He said softly.

Sam stepped up to Gabriel, who looked a little nervous, something unusual for the Archangel. Gabriel looked up at him, blushing slightly, "Only one way to put that soul back where it belongs." He tried to sound jovial, but it fell flat.

Sam leaned down, and Gabriel stood up on his tiptoes. They pressed their lips together, not like they had thousands of times previously, but almost cautiously, warily. Sam felt like a cool wave was rushing over him, he felt dizzy and confused and then it all rushed back into him. All the emotions he hadn't been feeling, all the fear and hurt and _love_. He kissed Gabriel properly, pulling him into his arms, lifting him bodily off his feet. And then they were kissing, arms wrapped around each other, Gabriel was laughing and Sam was laughing and crying, tears running down both of their faces.

"I'm sorry," Sam chocked out, burying his face in Gabriel's hair. "I was so stupid."

"Shhh." Gabriel whispered into his chest, "It's okay, we're okay, just shhh."

For a long while they stood there, just holding each other tightly. After a while, Gabriel wriggled a bit and slipped out of Sam's arms.

"Come on Sammich." He smiled, his normal, bright grin back up to full-force, "Let's go make sure the others are all still alive."

Sam grabbed his hand as they proceeded up the stairs and along to corridor towards the kitchen, where they could hear arguing.

"I'm fine"

"Yer bleeding!" Bobby shouted back, glaring, "Let me take a look at it."

Crowley glared back just as angrily, "Your concern is sweet, but I'm _fine."_ He took an angry step forward, swayed, and fell.

Gabriel caught him, appearing at his side seconds before he hit the floorboards. He lowered the Demon carefully to the ground, being extra certain to control his Grace no as not to hurt him. Then he looked up at Bobby, who was glaring with worry at the both of them.

"He's fine, just blood loss." Gabriel told him, "I can fix it in moments."

Bobby heard the question in Gabriel's voice, the silent 'can I?' and nodded silently. Gabriel didn't eve snap his fingers, just laid his hand over the wound and closed his eyes briefly. The damage and the blood simply faded away. Gabriel sighed.

"He's gonna be mad that I healed him." He shrugged, "I don't care. I've got my Sammoose back."

"Shut up Gabriel." Sam muttered, blushing red. Bobby turned to him.

"Are ya …is everything back in place?" He asked.

"Good as new." Sam replied. "Wait, where're Dean and Cas?"

Gabriel snickered, "It would be better not to interrupt them." He winked as Sam.

"Gross." Sam muttered. Gabriel grabbed his hand.

"Come on Sammich, we have fun of our own to have." He laughed, and then they were gone.

Bobby sighed into the quiet, looking around his kitchen. Things had been knocked over, and shaken up, but nothing seemed to be irreparably broken. Wincing a little, Bobby sat down on the floor next to Crowley, leaning back against a cabinet door.

"Yer a damn fool." He muttered to the King of Hell, reaching out a rough hand to gently brush against Crowley's hand. The fingers underneath his curled upwards, lightly twining with his, and squeezing softly. He cracked open one eye and looked up at Bobby from his slumped position on the ground.

"We make it?" he asked, his voice rough and quiet.

"Yeah." Bobby replied, squeezing back, "We made it."


	9. Epilogue - Two Months Later

The Impala pulled up in the driveway of Bobby's house, the motor cutting out abruptly. Dean got out of the driver's seat, moving quickly around the car to open the front passenger door for Castiel, who smiled up at him as he stood.

"Thank-you, Dean." He said, closing the door behind him. Dean smiled to himself. He liked being able to do things for Castiel, even if it was something as simple as opening a door for him. Sam teased him about it, calling him a romantic, and Dean had stopped denying it a while ago.

"Dean." Sam complained, extricating himself from the back seat, "Your car needs more legroom." He stretched, perhaps a little dramatically, groaning when he felt joints click back into the correct places.

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's griping. It was old news between the two of them, and it didn't look like it was going to end anytime soon. "Well, maybe you should just shrink down a little, bitch." He said it without any anger in his voice, a smile on his lips.

"Jerk." Sam responded, then "Hurry up Gabe!"

Half a second later, Gabriel slid out of the car, grinning. "Yes?" He asked, "Who calls?"

"Come on." Sam sighed, draping an arm around the smaller man's shoulders and tugging him against his side.

They proceeded towards the house, Dean and Castiel in the lead, followed by Sam and Gabriel. In the months since the incident with Sam's Soul, Dean had noticed that his brother and the Archangel seemed to have regressed a little back into a sort of super-clingy couple mode, which annoyed him no-end. He knew he and Castiel had probably been about as bad, but not for that long, it had been two months after all.

Dean knocked on Bobby's door, and it flew open. Bobby stood inside it, smiling broadly. It was the person behind him that gave Dean a surprise. Crowley, wearing an apron over a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, poked his head into the hallway from the kitchen.

"Who's at the door?" He called out, then, on seeing Dean, "Oh, it's you lot. Come on in then, before it gets cold!"

They all piled inside, following Bobby down the hall into the kitchen. Crowley had his back turned to them, and was stirring something on the stove.

"What's he doing here?" Dean asked Bobby, who sighed.

"Y'all had better sit down." He said finally.

They seated themselves around the table, and Bobby took a deep breath, as if he didn't know where to start. Crowley stood behind Bobby, alternating between cooking and listening in.

"Well, it's like this." Bobby began, looking more and more awkward as time went on, "After, uh the whole thing with the poison, and Sam's soul and-"

"All that." Dean chipped in.

"After all that." Bobby shot him a look to say 'who's telling this?', "I…that is…uh…." He trailed off. Castiel, breaking the unspoken 'no telepathy' rule Dean had put firmly in place, took up the explanation.

"What I believe Bobby is trying to tell you is that he and Crowley have, uh…" here Castiel floundered, not knowing what exactly to say.

"Sex?" Gabriel chipped in helpfully, grinning around a lollipop that had appeared at some stage.

Dean groaned, "Gross."

"So what." Sam Shrugged, "There's nothing wrong with sex, Dean."

"Uh…" Castiel put in, "It's not-"

"It's not just sex." Bobby finally managed to get out.

Silence feel around the table.

"So, what is it?" Dean asked, "Leave you two alone for a coupla months and you're married?" he looked a little panicked.

"Now _there's_ an idea." Crowley re-joined the conversation, leaning down over Bobby's shoulder, grinning.

Dean let out a strangled noise, dropping his head to the table top. Gabriel snickered. Castiel smiled knowingly. Bobby hadn't been the only one who had heard Crowley whisper 'I love you' that night in the panic room before facing the Demon horde.

"Well I'm glad you're happy." Sam said, smiling. Dean just glared at him.

"You would be all happy about this." He muttered darkly.

"Well I don't see your problem." Bobby sniped at Dean.

"Bobby," Dean shot back, "He's a _Demon_."

"Yeah, he is." Bobby replied, "He also saved my ass at least twice, he keeps the other Demons away, and he's a damn good cook."

"And here I was thinking you were only with me for my looks darling" Crowley smirked from the stove.

"And if I love him, what's it matter to you?" Bobby asked Dean.

"Nothing." Dean shrugged, "Not like I can talk, I guess." He placed a hand on top of Castiel's on the table top.

Silence descended once more into the room, until Crowley started serving dinner. Once everyone had adequate food and drink in front of them, Bobby shushed them all, raising hiss glass.

"I don't get sentimental often," he warned, "So don't get used to it." Faces looked expectantly up at him from around the table, "But a lot of stuff happened, well, y'all know when, and it made me realise how important ya all are to me. Sam, Dean; you two are like sons to me, even if I swear you'll be the death of me," a ripple of laughter and Dean raised his glass in acknowledgement, "Castiel, Gabriel, you make my boys happy and that makes me happy, even if you do get on my damn last nerve with your pranks!" this last comment was directed to Gabriel, "And Crowley. You annoy the Hell outta me and then leave me wondering why I'm mad at ya, yer a pain in the ass and I love ya." Crowley ducked his head, and Sam was sure the demon was blushing, "And I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for all of ya, so thanks, and I hope you never have to do it again. So, here's to still being alive, I guess." Bobby raised his glass.

"To still being alive." The echo ran around the table.

"Now eat up, all of you." Crowley said sternly, "I didn't make all this just for it to go cold."

That evening, as the sun was dipping behind the horizon, Sam and Gabriel sat out on the porch together. Dean and Castiel were a little way off, sprawled comfortably across the hood of the Impala, their voices soft on the night air as they talked. Inside, Bobby and Crowley were tidying up from dinner, having refused assistance from the others. The noise of their good-natured banter and the clatter of plates could be heard from the kitchen. Gabriel leant against Sam's side, for once quiet and still. His fingers twined easily with Sam's.

Sam looked out at the sunset and smiled, thinking about everyone. Dean, Cas, Gabriel, Bobby and even Crowley and how they all fit together. They had their fights, their petty arguments and their issues with each other, and that was always going to happen, but that was part of it all. Because when they needed each other the most they were there for each other, to pick up the pieces, to fix the things that were broken and to bandage each other's wounds. Because despite all that they had been through, all that had tried to rip them apart, they were a family, and nothing would ever change that.

THE END


End file.
